


Bee Yourself

by Wind_Ryder



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Bee Crazy, Bees, Blogging, F/F, F/M, Gen, Interns - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Other, Social Media, The Office, lots of puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 21:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: John just needed to intern for six months in order to get his PoliSci/Communications degree.He has two options, and working at Free Bees is the best choice.  The only problem is, the not-for-profit is run by the incredibly wealthy, and slightly insane, Thomas Hamilton, his deadpan wife, and his frankly terrifying best friend.All of them seem completely oblivious to the fact that they're obsessed with Bees to the point of insanity.And after a while...John thinks that feeling might well be contagious.





	Bee Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Tori (Jack-Rackham's-Sunglasses) for providing a section of this chapter as well!

The choices are either working for an aging bald man with halitosis and wandering hands, or working for the raving bee eccentric that had an office in the city and a country estate just beyond.  John gets a call back from both, and when it came right down to it: he figured at least the bee eccentric didn’t seem interested in anything other than his ability to do his job. 

Plus, “He’s not exactly  _ raving, _ ” Billy offers vaguely.  As far as compliments go, that one is sincerely lacking.  Instead of following up with anything remotely sounding sincere, Billy settles into position and shoots a basketball flawlessly into the hoop.  Nothing but net.  Someone on the sidelines cheers loudly and Billy does a little bow.  

“Not  _ exactly?”  _ John presses, chasing after the ball no one bothered to get for him.  Returning to stand in the same spot Billy’d taken his shot, he gets his knees into place and adjusts his feet.  

Billy waits for the precise moment John’s about to shoot.  Then, he interrupts just before the ball goes airborne, “Yeah, not exactly.”   _ Swish!  _ Tie game.  Billy scowls at John’s grin.  “Gates sends people their way every year, it’s not like there are horror stories about them or anything.” 

“Them?”

“Yeah, them.  That Mr. Hamilton? He’s got his wife, Miranda, working for him as well.  And a friend of there, Flint or something or other.  Singleton gave them a go last October.  You didn’t hear?” 

John doesn’t usually hear a lot of things.  Mainly because he doesn’t care, but there’s also a general state of deniability he enjoys having.  If he doesn’t stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, he doesn’t need to worry about what could possibly happen in the future. His professors liked to say that made him  _ cautious.   _ Billy told him that made him a tool.  

Shrugging seems like the best course of action, and Billy snorts.  Setting another perfect shot up and beaming as it slides right through.  This time the ball at least somewhat bounces their direction and John catches it with the flat of his hand.  Spinning it absently between his palms as he considered the shot. “So Singleton goes up there, right? And  _ apparently,  _ Mr. Hamilton’s an idealist piece of shit--”

“--meaning he’s a halfway decent bloke?” John clarifies. 

“Exactly.” Taking a deep breath John bends and jumps, wrists flicking at the ball with desperate hope.  Nothing.  It smacks awkwardly against the rim and Billy whoops in delight.  Their audience chortles with laughter.  Someone’s been keeping track of their score, and John’s fairly certain that he got an extra letter added on at some point.  He thought he’d been on R, but the S goes up and he scowls at the sight. “Not everyone’s a master at Horse,” Billy teases, ruffling his hair. 

It gets his curls in his face, and John swats his friend away.  Scowling and trying to figure out what happened to his hair tie.  He could have sworn he had one at some point, but it must have fallen off between one shot and the next.  It’d been close to snapping anyway, well worn and stringy.  There’s another one stashed on his wrist in case of emergencies, though.  Cupping a fistful of hair, John struggles to beat it into submission.  One bouncing curl always manages to break free, but at least  _ that’s  _ manageable. 

“Anyway,” Billy dribbles the ball a few times.  Pokes his tongue out and slides it to the corner of his mouth.  Considering his position carefully. “One eye closed,” he announces, then shoots.  He misses, and curses.

“Don’t worry, not all of us can be masters at Horse,” John informs his friend sagely.  He takes an easy shot as his own and settles off to the side.  “You were saying?” 

“What? Oh. Right, well Singleton lost his job there after about a month or so.   _ He  _ says it’s because the man’s a lunatic, but I heard from Anne that he’d been getting a bit pushy with that Flint fellow.  Got into a few good arguments before finally they called it quits.” 

“I’m sorry, are you trying to make me feel better or worse?” Internship assignments had been part of their curriculum since the beginning of the year.  Professor Gates had made it clear that they were to have at least six months interning before they could receive full credit for their courses, and John had (in proper fashion) entirely neglected it until this very moment.  

The extension had been granted with grudging acceptance, but only in the sense that John’s diploma would be withheld until he completed the assignment.  His options, by now, were severely limited.  Something else that Billy seemed to find incomprehensibly entertaining. 

They go a few more rounds, Billy eventually eeking out a victory just at the last second.  And almost as soon as they finish, their audience flock to the court to take over.  Insisting that it’s their turn.  Wiping the sweat from his brow, John guzzles a bottle of water.  Waiting for Billy to give him some indication that this is actually going to end well.  

“All I’m saying, is that if this Flint fellow can’t stand Singleton then you’re probably in luck yeah?” 

It’s a cop out and they both know it.  John groans loudly and shakes his head.  “I should have done this last year.”  

“Yeah, all right,” Billy rolls his eyes and pointedly does not bring up the fact that John had quite literally been incapable of adding  _ anything  _ else onto his plate last year.  “At least it pays.” 

“Faaaan-tastic,” John sighs.  Then, pulling out his mobile, he taps the email he’d received from Ms. Madi Muhammad. 

_ Thank you for your generous offer regarding the  _

-John needs to check to make sure he got the wording right-

_ Communications and Marketing Internship opening at Free Bees.  I gratefully accept this position, and look forward to starting at your direction.  Please inform me of the appropriate attire and what materials I should bring with me on which date.  I look forward to working with you all soon!  _

Double checking to make sure his signature is there, John reads it over for spelling then hits send.  Billy glances over his shoulder to read the draft.  “You’re hopeless.”

“What?” John asks.  “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Billy sighs, shaking his head.  “Absolutely nothing.” 

John’s phone bings.  Glancing at it, he’s actually a touch surprised that Ms. Muhammad had replied so quickly. 

_ Hello John! _

_ So happy to hear you will be joining our team.  There is no official dress code, except please wear close toed shoes.  The office can get a little cold at times, so a second layer may bee a good idea ;) .  _

_ Please come by the office at 2:30 for the afternoon shift, and you may want to bring a notebook.  _

_ Welcome to the hive! _ __  
  


_ Thomas J. Hamilton _

_ President and CEO _

_ Always Bee Your Best Self!  _

 

John stares at the email.  He’s not quite sure if he read it correctly.  His cheek twitches as he reads it again.  At his side, Billy starts chortling with laughter.  It’s not even good laughter.  It’s the kind of embarrassing gagging laughter that comes after being way too high while watching a stupid movie late at night.  John wants very badly to hit him.  Wants it  _ very  _ badly.  

“Three bee jokes in less than ten sentences,” John mutters.  

He’s so totally fucked.  Suddenly the lecher doesn’t seem like too bad of an idea. 

* * *

The Free Bees office is right across the street from a Starbucks.  John manages to run in, grab a cup of coffee and a muffin and finish both before his shift started.  He had no idea what the shift was going to be like, but at least he could have some sustenance before hand.

With only the slightest amount of hesitation, John adjusts his bag over his shoulder and enters the campaign office. (A title he still privately disapproved of since he first saw it on the intern flyer in Gate’s office.  They’re not campaigning for anything, why on earth would they call it that?) 

The office walls are painted a vibrant yellow.  There are several desks settled in two neat rows.  Personal items scattered across each one.  There’s no receptionist at the desk closest to the door.  Though there’s a sweater hanging off the chair that makes it look like someone is  _ supposed  _ to be there. 

Feeling more than a little awkward for just standing in the doorway, John has no idea what he’s meant to do.  He’s actually absurdly grateful when the door opens behind him and a few more people start shuffling in.  Even if they are mid conversation already.  “--For the last time Jack, Bee Movie is an unrealistic portrayal of the very real struggle of- ah, hello!” The man in front of John is the face on all of the intern pamphlets and promotional material for Free Bees.  He looks a bit like a stock footage model, and up until that moment, John had been confident that he  _ had  _ been.  Apparently, he was wrong.   

Tall, blonde, and absurdly attractive, John feels his mouth go dry a little bit as he looks at him.  An effect that is immediately lessened when John gets an eyeful of the shirt that he’s wearing.  It’s the most audacious neon yellow John’s seen in ages, and there’s a frustratingly happy cartoon bee smiling brightly up at the sky.  An actual speech bubble is coming out of its mouth ordering the reader to  _ Bee Positive!  _

John’s fairly certain he wants to die.  

The man holds out his hand.  Grins so much that John isn’t sure what’s more blinding, his atrocity of a t-shirt or the man himself.  “I’m Thomas Hamilton, you must be our new intern, or should I say employ-bee!”

_Oh God, he’s the boss,_ John stares.  He had prepared his entire life for his first real job.  Now that it’s here, he can’t stop his mouth from falling open and gaping like a wounded frog.   _First impressions!_ Something reminds him as he forces himself to take Thomas’ hand.“Yes, hi I’m John.”  Then, because he had nothing else to say and everything spinning around his head was decidedly _not_ appropriate, he managed, “Nice, uh nice shirt.”  
His new, apparently fashion challenged and pun-loving, boss beams at the compliment.  Even as one of his two companions snorts loud enough it must have _hurt_.  John dares to look over.  Ginger hair, freckles, an absolutely perfectly trimmed goatee, and green eyes, with a body to die for.  “That shirt is fucking hideous, you don’t have to be nice.” 

John half expects his boss to wilt under the comment, but instead, Thomas smiles over his shoulder to look at speaker.  Eyes twinkling mischievously.  “Now James, bee positive.” Then, looking back at John he actually wags his finger.  “That applies to you too.”

“You’re lucky he’s not running screaming for his life,” the other man, presumably Jack, adds with a sigh.  Reaching around Thomas, he gives John’s hand a firm shake.  “We’re not all like that, I promise.  So...good luck!” Then Jack abruptly departs toward the row of desks and James shakes his head.    
“Come on,” he says as he steps around Thomas.  “I’ll let you meet Miranda. She’s the more sensible one, I promise.” 

The boss, because that’s what a President and CEO  _ is,  _ just rolls his eyes and leaves them to it.  Wandering off in a different direction to talk to staffers and laugh good naturedly with a young woman.  

James leads John farther down, though.  Passing all twelve desks and a giant filing cabinet that’s covered in honest to God  _ stickers.  _  John doesn’t know what the hell that’s all about, but it doesn’t matter. 

_ The other option was a shirt-lifter,  _ John reminds himself.  A shirt lifter with an honestly terrifying name of  _ Hornigold  _ of all things.  As if that wasn’t on the nose at all.  John still ranks it as one of the most uncomfortable interviews of his young life, and Billy had nearly died of laughter after he explained it.  At least he got some sympathy from his flatmate.  Muldoon had been the one to warn him about Hornigold in the first place, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

James raps against the dark wood of an office door, and then enters.  The woman behind the desk is just as jaw droppingly gorgeous as everyone else in this office.  John’s starting to think it’s a requirement for working in this field.  Perhaps that’s the secret after all.  Maybe the bees did it.  Maybe it’s honey.  Muldoon did say honey was good for the skin. 

“You’re John Silver, then?” the woman asks. 

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you.”  He holds out his hand and she shakes it. 

“He thinks Thomas’ shirt is  _ nice, _ ” James informs her with the kind of dripping dismay that usually comes associated with finding out you owe back taxes you hadn’t expected.  John’s not sure what he’s supposed to say now, and stares at Miranda in a (hopefully not creepy and entirely) respectful way.  

She huffs an amused laugh and flicks her hand toward the door. “Ignore my husband,” Miranda informs John.  His eyes flick over to James.  “He is...very  _ passionate _ about bees, you could say,” she continues.  She says it with a straight face.  Not even a hint of a smile.  As if he’s to take her word for the very serious nature of this business.  

Brain refusing to respond appropriately to his commands, John slowly manages to work out that she meant Thomas and not James.  Not James who is currently leaning with one hand braced on the back of Miranda’s chair like he’s meant to be there, and is standing close enough she could turn over and suck him off if she wanted to. 

(John is absolutely not thinking about that either). 

“Ah...hah…” John manages in order to buy himself time.  Honestly, the weird office romance vibe is the most normal of this whole organisation so far.  Swallowing, he plasters his brightest smile on his face.  Wilting only a little when Miranda doesn’t bother to return it.  He’s just about to say something trite, like  _ I really did think the shirt was nice,  _ but in the end the lie is too much for him.  He shrugs awkwardly.  Manages a smile and an “I don’t mind,” while Miranda waits him out.  He thinks she might be waiting for him to prove he’s somehow unworthy of being the new intern, but she doesn’t eviscerate him like he suspects. 

Instead, her retaliation comes in the form of paperwork.  “You’ll be going out with James tomorrow to start surveying hives over at the Guthrie farm, so today you can familiarise yourself with our practices and such. Here.” She handed him a binder with what must be every clip-art bee copied onto the front.  “Thomas made it.” She added quickly.

He must not have been able to hide the look on his face.  He tries to reform his smile.  Opens it and sees the normal new-hire documents tucked into the pocket at the front of the binder, and then a series of tabbed sections with labeled titles.  The cover page of the first tab stares back at him in a cheery font that belongs in a comic book store. 

 

Chapter 1: Introduction to Lob-bee-ing.

  
Fucking hell.

“Uh, where would you like me to sit and go over this?” he asks awkwardly.  

“James can show you to your desk.  There should be computer passwords and login information already prepared for you behind your new hire docs.  Complete those first and then return it to Madi.  She’s at the desk just there,” Miranda points with her pen.  John nods, says his goodbyes, and tries  _ very hard  _ not to flee. 

* * *

 

**@BloggingIsForTheBees :** New account documenting the life and lifestyle of influential lobbyists. 

 

John stares at the fresh tweet he’d just posted, then kicks his roommate in the leg.  “Follow me on twitter.” 

“I already do follow you on Twitter,” Laith Muldoon tells him without looking up from the video game he’s currently playing.  It’s some kind of racing game.  John doesn’t care.  It looks like all the other ones.  

“No, my new account.  The one for Gates’ class.” 

Muldoon’s tongue sticks out of his mouth as he steers his pixelated car around a corner.  “Just grab my phone yah?” 

John glances in their immediate vicinity, and doesn’t see it anywhere.  “The fuck is it?” 

“S’in my pocket yah?  I got no hands man, you want me to follow you, you’re either gonna have to wait or do it yourself.” 

John thinks about it for a moment.  On the list of truly frustrating shit that’s happened today, that’s not on the list.  Nodding, he leaned forward and pulled out the phone while Muldoon tried to assist by stretching one leg out farther.  His flatmate yells at the TV when a car gets too close to his, but John’s managed to get the phone out.  

Sliding his thumb across the screen to unlock it, John taps the twitter icon and finds his new handle.  “I’m making you promo it.” 

“Why don’t you promo it on your actual twitter?” 

“They can’t know it’s me,” John replies.

“That a rule?” 

John considers.  Gates had said they needed to keep an active journal of all their work as an intern.  That they needed to share their findings to the world and they needed in order to get used to writing in a public forum.  “No,” John says firmly.  He taps in the microlink and submits the tweet.  “But these people are insane, and I need to vent.” 

The car makes it to the finish line and scores first.  Muldoon cheers with far too much enthusiasm.  Pumping his fist in the air and hoo-rahing loudly.   “What’s your blog on anyway?” Muldoon finally asks, and John flips his laptop around to show him. 

 

How To Bee An Activist*

*That’s not the last pun you’ll see. 

 

Snorting, Muldoon starts up his next game, and nods.  “All right, hit me.  How can you  _ bee  _ an activist?” 

 

John licks his lips, and starts to read.  “How to bee an activist, by one who shall remain nameless.”  He clears his throat, even as Muldoon snorts.  “Thomas J. Hamilton may actually be crazy,” he orates in his best voice.  “Not crazy in a, chasing after you with a butcher knife, way, but crazy as in: everything in his life revolves around Bees.  From a young age, Hamilton was intimately familiar with agriculture and farming--”

“--Don’t say agriculture and farming,” Muldoon informs John as he leans over his shoulder and squints at his screen.  “Say one or the other, they’re the same thing really.” 

“Well, technically,  _ agriculture-” _

“One or the other, not both.” John scowls at his flatmate, and hits the backspace key. 

He starts again.  “Hamilton was intimately familiar with various methods of farming as a child.  His father is an influential member of the Global Services Pesticide Coalition (GSPC).  In fact, almost all of Hamilton’s money comes from the widespread use and misuse of pesticides.  But pesticides are famous for killing more than just their intended vermin, and many of GSPC’s chemicals are harmful to more than just crop damaging bugs.  They kill the magical and amazing  _ honey bee  _ as well.” 

His flatmate is laughing.  “Magical and amazing?” 

“Have you  _ seen  _ the fucking pamphlet?” John asks.  Muldoon isn’t shutting up.  He’s still laughing.  “It’s seventy-four pages of honey bees.  There’s a picture of a cartoon on every goddamned page.  I’m supposed to write a blog to keep track of this shit and I have cartoon bees staring back at me every second of my day.” 

“Maybe you should just write about that, then,” Muldoon suggests.  John blinks.  “It’s a journal isn’t it?” 

Adding a few more spaces at the end of his very well written analytical essay, he takes Muldoon’s advice.  “And another thing,” he reads as he types.  “I really don’t understand what’s going on with all the bee jokes.  It’s a serious business, and the issue they’re lobbying for is actually rather important.  Why do there have to be so many puns bees?” 

“Don’t worry John,” Muldoon informs him sagely as he drives his car off the road.  “Just beeee yourself!” 

John groans loudly.  This is the beginning of a very long, demented, nightmare.  He just knows it.  Especially when his flatmate starts singing  _ Be prepared!  _ At the top of his lungs. 

It’s just the beginning.  And John can’t wait for it to end. 

**Author's Note:**

> All additions to this verse are welcome in the Free Bees! Collection


End file.
